


Offstage

by MadameMorganLeFay



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMorganLeFay/pseuds/MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: One afternoon, one piano, and a song. After the drama and frustration onstage, Kelsi Nielsen could always rely on her inexplicable friendship with Troy Bolton, offstage. Canon AU, HSM III.





	Offstage

“ _Splendid_ work, everyone!” said Ms Darbus, waving her arm in the air with a flourish. “Hence why we gather in this _hallowed_ hall!”

 

Kelsi smiled at this. Ms Darbus had a way of congratulating people that sounded like she was congratulating herself. The drama teacher did little to dispel this notion, with her nose stuck in the air, and her arms held aloft like a ballerina. Still, rehearsal had been a success, asides from Cindra’s dodgy high C’s; no matter how many times she suggested that the ostentatious girl do vocal runs, her requests went unheeded.

 

“Costumes on the rack everyone-- don’t run! Mr. Zara, the fence is not your armchair. Off, now.”

 

Jimmie Zara pretended to look offended by this, but obeyed with a mock salute.

 

As she had no costume to replace, Kelsi sat by the piano, listening to the squeaking and clunking of dancing shoes as everyone rushed to the racks. There were pushes and shoves, and somehow everyone blamed Jason when an avalanche of dresses slid off their hangers, drowning the sophomores. Shaking her head, she turned back to the manuscripts lying open in front of her, contemplating another rerun when everyone had gone. It would be peaceful then, with no anticipation or judgement in the air, not to mention Cindra wouldn’t be present to murder the C major scale. Then she could just be alone with the music, the notes, the words she had crafted to perfection and the power of her imagination.

 

Then she could just be Kelsi Nielsen.

 

Little by little, everyone else disappeared for other classes. No doubt the magic of the stage with its glittering lights, props, costumes piled on boxes and music stands stuffed behind the curtains was lost upon them when they stepped back into the corridors. It was like leaving a fairy tale world and falling back into the drudgery of not running in the corridors, lockers that did not lock and tasteless school meals.  

 

“See ya, Kelsi!”

 

She glanced up and smiled at Ryan as he _danced_ offstage without dislodging his hat. Indeed, Ryan could pirouette, do the splits and then a jeté without harming so much as a hair on his head. How she had misjudged him: far from being Sharpay’s squeaky sycophant, he was kind, generous and brimming with genius. In fact, throughout their rehearsal, she had caught Sharpay’s surprised looks whenever Ryan executed a particular move flawlessly, whereas she struggled a few times before mastering anything.

 

As much as she yearned for that Juilliard scholarship… well, if Ryan or Troy got it, good on them. And if Sharpay won it, then...

 

“Young lady, don’t you have classes?”

 

Ms Darbus appeared, seemingly from nowhere (but such was her talent), adjusting a stack of papers in her arm.

 

“No, Ma’am. Free period.”

 

“Very well, but if I get another complaint from Mr Buckley about your skipping Biology--”

 

Kelsi fiddled with her pencil. “That was last year--”

 

“--Mind you, I struggle to see how disembowelling a frog is as mutually satisfying as the Dramatic Arts--”

 

She turned away to hide another smile. Ms Darbus might have become more accustomed with a basketball since _Twinkle Towne_ , but her contempt for other subjects remained.

 

“It hasn’t happened this year, Ma’am.”

 

“Well...” Ms Darbus said, and it seemed as though she might say more. However, she merely swept her shawl over her shoulder and marched out of the auditorium, bracelets jangling. “...last one to leave turns out the lights!”

 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” she whispered. It was 11am. And for no one’s information, she had already completed her Biology homework, which had nothing to do with dead frogs, but glucose. Science had never been her strong suit; it took her twice as long to learn what people like Gabriella and Martha mastered within minutes. Fortunately, sitting next to Martha in Biology was like having a textbook open right in front of her. As a result, she had four pages stuffed at the bottom of her bag on glucose and other carbohydrates.

 

It was a wonder really, still being friends with the girl who’d unintentionally stolen her ex-boyfriend. Months after Jason bought her a bunch of flowers and then broke her heart by claiming he needed to move on alone, she still agonized over whether her continued friendship with Martha was a sign of her maturity, or an attempt to get back at Jason by making him feel _guilty_. But that would be petty, right? And she had no reason to wish him anything but the best of health and success.

 

Even when he showed up to rehearsal, late as always, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with Martha’s name and a love heart.

 

So he’d never done anything like that for her. Better luck next time, huh?

 

Sighing, she stared at the pencil in her hand.

 

_Songs._

 

Time to play a song, to let the melodies wash away reality. But nothing from the musical; those songs were too idealistic, too far removed from anything she felt now. And what _did_ she feel? Was it a conflict, or was she itching to break free and _express_ something?

 

Leaning down, she riffled through her bag for the other manuscripts she always brought to school, but never used. The songs that no one else would ever hear. For as much as she had poured her heart and soul into _Senior Year_ , she still hid part of her ideas from the world, often practicing them whilst her mother was out playing tennis with some dude from Cardiology. No one, except perhaps that special _someone_ in her songs, was ready to hear these.

 

Aha, there it was-- the song that came to her whilst watching _Gaslight._ Or maybe the song had already formed itself during Monday’s rehearsal. The class had run through _“I Just Wanna Be With You”_ without a hitch. Ecstatic at their success, she’d rushed off to her next Biology class before the bell, only to discover that Buckley was ill and had been replaced by Miss Lemming, who told them to read the textbook for an hour and snapped at anyone who asked questions. She might as well have skipped class altogether; instead, she wrote lyrics under the table whilst pretending to read about lipids. By 10pm, she had finished the entire song.  

 

How would it sound now?

 

She pulled out the song sheets and smoothed them down.

 

_Like a night full of stars_

_We’re so close, yet so far,_

_Always stunned by the day,_

_That you flew my way_

 

Was it too romantic, or was she forever doomed to write in the same way? Romance was a miserable business. But even as she lifted her pencil, ready to make some correction or annotation, she knew she wouldn’t change a thing. Setting the sheets against the piano stand, she took deep breath and played the chorus first. Somehow that felt right.

 

_I’ll write words that you can keep_

_From the girl who cannot speak_

_Can’t give up, can’t pretend_

_As long as you are my friend_

_All my hope will not end_

_As long as you are my friend_

 

Her voice, never spectacular, seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the auditorium against melancholic chords. Later, she’d add the ornamentation, maybe a second vocal part. Maybe. For now, just the bare bones were sufficient to fill whatever she was missing.

 

So she didn’t hear the footsteps across the stage.

 

Instead, she worked her way through the second verse, changing a note here, adding another there, losing herself in the overlapping melodies until--

 

“You have a nice voice.”

 

With a gasp, she played E natural instead of E flat and brought the whole experience to a shuddering halt.

 

“Troy! Er, hello.” Getting caught singing alone. How sad.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Uh… you’re, uh…”

 

“On a free period.” He shrugged with a smile, hands in his pockets. “And hanging around offstage. Very Zen.”

 

“Ah, right,” she said, trying to look as though this wasn’t news to her. After all, the auditorium had been silent. “So, no firing hoops today?”

 

“ _Shooting_ hoops. And no.”

 

Like she’d remember. But it still made her smile back. Other jocks would have derided her for being ignorant about basketball, but never Troy-- not even when she tripped and went flying on this very same stage last year. And now, a musical and a Talent Show later, he did look good there. Calm, open and brimming with energy. A far cry from his reserved demeanour as Troy Bolton, the Basketball Guy. He had lit up the stage during rehearsal, his moves spontaneous, his voice note-perfect, his energy infectious. And though he was one half of a duet, she couldn’t help but focus on _him_ , as though she were watching _his_ show. Gabriella, batting her eyelashes and belting out G5’s, barely registered as more than a blip on radar.

 

_God, what a terrible thing to think._

 

Whether she now looked a little vacant, lost in her own musings or not, Troy didn’t comment on it. He looked casual, almost invisible, with his black jeans, sneakers and black shirt. _Casual and handsome_ , she added, forgetting that she should have outgrown such thoughts by now.  

 

“Why don’t you play the rest of it?”

 

Without waiting for a response, he jumped off stage and the next minute was sitting next to her at the piano. For a moment, she fought the urge to sneeze. How much aftershave did boys need?

 

_Dammit, Kelsi, focus!_

 

Sometimes, she forgot that they’d been friends for over a year.  

 

“It’s kinda rough right now--” she said, sniffing. Definitely Clinique-- she knew from the advert soundtrack. It didn’t smell so bad, actually.

 

“Hey, come on, Composer.”

 

Relenting, she played. And somehow, maybe because it was her first time, or perhaps because of Troy, she felt drawn in far deeper than she’d intended, so much so that upon finishing, it took a moment to return to reality. Was this really a scrap of crumpled manuscript paper, filled with the bare bones of her imagination, or had she accessed something deeper within the last three or four minutes? How she longed to retrieve it, capture the moment in a bottle and repeat. Instead, she stared at the keys, her fingers and then the manuscript in front of her as though all had suddenly appeared.

 

_Jesus Christ._

 

And finally, she glanced at Troy, embarrassed about zoning out. “Er… so yeah. That’s the song. So far.”

 

For a moment, he didn’t answer, staring at her. “Wow… That’s… That’s nice.”

 

Shaking her head a little, she glanced pointedly towards the manuscript. Maybe he thought she’d played the whole thing from memory.

 

“Thanks.”

 

There was a pause. When she couldn’t think of anything else to say, she reached over to rearrange her scores in the hope that he might fill the silence.

 

“When I hear your songs, it’s like… Like they’re just waiting to be sung.”

 

She paused, and turned to him again, eyebrows raised slightly.

 

“If that makes sense.”

 

“I-- I guess?”

 

Troy’s smile suddenly became bashful. “I don’t know… It’s like you write so personally, and I just feel everything you want to say?”

 

Here was another side of Troy Bolton that no one else saw; the rare, thoughtful comments he made from time to time. Comments often related to his raw talent (though he was too modest to name it as such), that seemed beyond his own comprehension. Sometimes he sensed this, amazed at how he could connect to a song so deeply that he and the lyrics melted into one. Onlookers were astonished. But she knew, because he’d always glance over at her mid-song and smile, and she’d smile back in silent approval.

 

And all his creative energy flowed straight into her and the piano until she wanted to soak up the spotlight, too. With him.

 

“Er, yes.” Her incoherence was legendary.

 

“See, that’s why I like your music best.”

 

She turned away before he could see her blush, or perhaps before he heard her heart sing for joy. “Uh, thanks.”

 

Something about his compliments-- his profound honesty-- sparked a flame within her chest. A small flame, but somehow strong enough to conquer the cold she felt watching Jason parade Martha’s name on his t-shirt, as though trying to emphasise how dull and inadequate his former girlfriend had been.

 

_God. Stop thinking about this._

 

Not everything was doom and gloom. The fact that people these days listened to her, _heard_ her message, sang her songs and even knew her name made her heart swell with pride, disbelief and the most profound happiness she’d ever known. Troy had done that, infusing her with the strength to exceed her goals, to prove her worth. She’d never thanked him, yet what could she say? What they shared didn’t need words. Often the companionable silences, smiles, gentle nudges and tight hugs spoke volumes.  

 

She didn’t fully understand it, but did that really matter? Perhaps the best things should never be understood.

 

“I like the way you perform my songs,” she whispered with a shy smile, not sure the blush had disappeared.

 

He waved that comment away. Far be it from Troy to admit to his talent. “Well, you know that _this_ is why we gather--”

 

“--in this hallowed hall,” she said, giggling. “They should write a book about Darbus.”

 

“Chad says she belongs on a mothership somewhere, probably where there’re a billion more copies of herself.”

 

“Is that the same mothership where Chad lives?”

 

He laughed at that-- which was fortunate, as she’d not meant to mock his best friend in public. The sarcastic part of her brain always reacted quicker than the rational thinking part. Besides, by some stupendous twist of fate, she and Chad often had a good chat before curtain call.

 

“Hey, we invented planets when we were in the third grade,” he said, and then stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Can’t remember what mine was called. But it was filled with robots.”

 

“Nice.”

 

“Yeah, kinda crazy, isn’t it?”

 

“Everyone loved robots when they were kids, didn’t they? That’s not crazy.”

 

For some reason, Troy seemed surprised at this response. But then his expression changed into a smile, and she thought no more of it.

 

“Why don’t you play something else?” he asked after a pause. “One of your other songs.”

 

This time she didn’t hesitate, pulling out another piece in C sharp minor that came to her on a train journey from Albuquerque to Phoenix. Turned out that it was possible to compose music whilst dying of heatstroke, so long as she balanced a water bottle on her head whilst writing. Not that Troy needed to know any of this, but she babbled about her misfortune for a while, and instead of getting bored, he snorted and chuckled.

 

“It doesn’t have any words, though.”

 

He shrugged.

 

Renewed by this, she played it through, forte and piano, allegro and grave, minor and major. And at certain points, the patterns would change, branching off into variations and inventions and ornamentations. Despite the trials and travails she’d endured, this piece made her proud, entertaining a secret hope that it might wind up on a film track. Probably a low-cost, ten minute-affair only shown to about three people, but just seeing her name in capital white letters on a screen made her feel giddy.

 

On the other hand, should she win the scholarship to Juilliard…

 

...And the song came to a close. She sighed. Troy could win it, Ryan could win it. Even… even Sharpay could win it, and after that thought, she wanted to kick something. Giving more plaudits to Sharpay was like stuffing a pig. And where would that leave her? Off to Curtis, Cleveland or Oberlin. Indeed, she’d applied to them all, and received two offers which was _fantastic_ , but still…

 

“That’s beautiful, Kels.”

 

 _Christ, he’s still here._ “Oh-- thanks.”

 

“Hey, that could be a film score, you know.”

 

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, she smoothed out one score sheet. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think that will happen.”

 

“Well, how do you know?”

 

“I-- “ She glanced at him in surprise. “Well, I _don’t_ know, per se, but I prefer likelihood to uncertainty.”

 

“But likelihood _is_ uncertainty, really.”

 

Did he read philosophy books in his spare time?

 

“Wow, you’re _way_ out of my league, Socrates.”

 

He just laughed at that, looking somewhat _too_ pleased with her joke. Or maybe that was simply her own interpretation. Despite their friendship, there was still so much she didn’t understand about Troy, and so little time in which to discover more. So little opportunity. So little _necessity_ , since they would embark on their separate futures in a mere matter of months. What would college life be without someone like him?

 

“It’s hard, being in music,” she said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Hey, _you_ don’t have to worry, Hoops Man.”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe my life doesn’t always have to be a ball game....”

 

“No, it doesn’t.”

 

Having been staring at his hands, Troy turned to her with an expression full of incredulity and hope. “Really?”

 

“Sure. I mean, you could be off to Juilliard,” she said.

 

He turned away. “Oh yeah. That.”

 

“ _That?”_ Didn’t he know that Juilliard was _the_ foremost performing arts school in the country, sought after by ambitious students nationwide?!

 

“You know, I seriously don’t understand how my name got into the… Well, whatever. I mean, it’s cool, and everything, but…”

 

And she recalled their first Drama lesson back after Christmas, when he’d stood centre stage, lost, struggling to articulate his future. And then Gabriella had stepped forward with slight impatience and changed the subject entirely, leaving him no choice but to step back. Everyone had given him strange looks, but she’d longed to reach out, to assure him that uncertainty wasn’t foolish or weird. Too late. The bell rang and he disappeared with Chad and the Wildcat gang. Which was cool-- after all, she was part of their group, even if she still felt like an awkward outsider, listening to everyone else discuss basketball, cheerleaders and more basketball. Sure, they changed things a little; everyone started beatboxing when Martha wanted to break it down, and everyone clustered around when Zeke opened a lunchbox full of baked delicacies, but… Something about the Wildcats still remained the same, just with Troy and Gabriella as Supreme Rulers of East High.

 

Yet right now, sitting on a piano bench next to East High’s Primo Boy, she felt no hint of awkwardness.

 

“Obviously you didn’t secretly submit your name, Troy, but isn’t it excited to be considered? I mean, I’m not _too_ excited…” She trailed off, biting her lip. “But all the same, Juilliard is a brilliant school and you would really shine there. Think of all the great musicians-- I mean _actors_ \-- who went there!”

 

“You believe me?”

 

Hadn’t he listened to anything else she’d said? Kelsi suppressed a sigh, ready to begin again with another pro-Juilliard propaganda spiel. But something in his expression stopped her for a moment.

 

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I? Anyway, my point is that--”

 

“--Gabriella says I should have told her that I applied,” he muttered, staring at the stage.

 

Kelsi felt an uncomfortable jolt in her stomach. “--My point is that Juilliard is an _excellent_ school, and you should be incredibly proud of yourself for getting this opportunity, no matter how it came about.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

And in the following pause-- a frustrating pause-- she tried to forget Gabriella’s laughter as Ms Darbus announced Troy’s shot at the scholarship. Tried to forget Zeke, Chad, Jason and almost everyone else who’d laughed, and Troy’s bewilderment and embarrassment that forced him to laugh along like he’d just masterminded a clever stunt. Because this was the Wildcat gang, right? They teased each other all the time, didn’t they? Troy at Juilliard, how hilarious. But her mind wandered back further, back to Lava Springs, and that cold summer morning when Troy walked into the kitchens only for everyone to turn their backs. Even Jason, when she’d pleaded with him to give Troy a break. But… that was just an exception. History. All was forgiven and forgotten, now.

 

And a bitter taste lingered in her mouth.

 

“Hey Troy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Thrown off guard by his open and honest glance, she hesitated for a moment. But now, she _had_ to counter Troy’s woeful tendency to underestimate himself. Too many times, she’d stood by, shelved her discomfort and allowed him to suffer. Enough was enough. After all, whenever he reached his lowest, she was always right beside him, the only person capable of lifting his spirits again. And it sounded selfish as hell, but she revelled in that privilege, particularly as the countdown to graduation and a new life continued.  

“I know you’re facing a million and one different pressures, but you do what _you_ want, yeah? Even if everyone else thinks it’s insane. You’re the only person you’ve got, and you’re the only person you’ll ever have.” She paused. “And for what it’s worth, you’ll always have me.”

 

His eyes were a mixture of hesitancy, disbelief, but underneath, she caught a glimmer of… What was it? Hope? No, courage. He’d always been the bravest person she’d ever known, always daring to go against the grain even if he eventually capitulated to other people’s demands. That audacity remained, even when only a glimmer of light. Yes, it was courage, and something deeper, indescribable and unquestionable. She tried to smile, and to her surprise, he smiled back with an unexpected warmth.

 

And when, after a brief hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, the way he leaned into her on instinct filled her with that warmth. Then she knew: no matter what happened to her on life’s great stage, the pitfalls, setbacks, hurt still lurking in her heart, she still had _this_ inexplicable friendship offstage. The friendship that had come from nothing and now meant everything. Her breath caught in her throat. Was this the last time they’d share a moment like this which, were she braver and less aware of Gabriella’s domineering presence, she might describe as… _intimate_?

 

 _Don’t do something stupid and cry._ Chewing her lips hard, she wrapped her arms round him tighter, silently begging him to never leave.

 

“Hey, it’s just like your song,” he whispered into her hair. “-- _Can’t give up, can’t pretend, as long as you’re my friend_.”

 

And he definitely could not see her blush, but maybe this time he heard her heart sing for joy.


End file.
